


Ebony

by yeaka



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anti-form, Dry Humping, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Riku encounters a new side of Sora.





	Ebony

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an AU as it’s set nowhere in the story and has aged them up to adults.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom Hearts or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Hollow Bastion’s library is enormous, tall and cavernous, with books stretched from floor to ceiling along every wall, save only the doors and windows. Of all the places Riku’s seen, all the worlds and castles he’s been inside, this is still his favourite place to come for research. He feels confident that the answers he seeks are in here _somewhere_ , if only he can find them, and now that the universe has settled down, he thinks maybe he can.

 _Sora_ likely could in a heartbeat, because everything seems to gravitate towards him—knowledge, power, answers. Everything but shadows. Those are Riku’s burden alone. But they’re mostly what he looks for now—half the battle in conquering the inner darkness is to _understand_ it, and no matter how deeply it burrows into Riku’s very being, he’s never sure he can. 

He strolls along the towering shelves with his fingers brushing ancient spines, and he traces them as he moves. Some of the titles are in languages he doesn’t know, but most he can garner and quickly dismiss. His lesson is illusive, but he’ll find it.

He brought Sora along for that, not in the sense of finding it for him, but just for company and to give him _hope_. When he reaches the end of the row, Riku looks around it, staring forward to wear Sora’s resting against the window. Slumped in a heavy armchair with his cheek leant against the glass, Sora’s half-closed eyes are lost out in the sunset. The fading light paints him orange-yellow around the sides, splashing purple into his blue irises. He’s a vision, as he always is, both in strength on the battlefield and in peace within their havens. It gives Riku that little push he needs to keep trying—keep searching—keep striving to stamp out the last dregs of darkness in him, so that he can be worthy of standing at Sora’s side. 

He moves back between the isles, gaze lifted now to the next row. He follows it right to the column at the end, still with no results. Riku paces back the way he came just to be sure.

Or maybe it’s so he can sneak another look at Sora glowing in the sunset, sweetly on the very edge of sleep, ready for Riku to try and carry his heavy form to bed. He’s grown considerably since they first set out so many years ago, but Riku’s still taller, bigger, and he’ll happily cradle Sora in his arms. 

He reaches the end but the armchair’s now empty. He’s hit with a stab of disappointment.

Then a flicker of smoke catches his eye, and Riku’s head jerks to the side—a twisted figure of pitch black is crouched on the floor. 

Only a few meters away, Riku tenses, falling instantly into a fighting stance, fists clenched and ready—that level of pure _black_ is only ever attained by the Heartless. Worry flares for Sora—

Until its piercing yellow eyes catch his, and then Riku falters.

Mouth dry and mind numb, he breathes, “Sora...?”

Knelt on all fours and twitching like an animal, the beast is Sora’s size, Sora’s shape—right down to each strand of pointed hair. But it billows in dark wisps and growls with menace before it leaps forward all in one bound. 

It’s on him before Riku even has a moment to think. Lightening fast, the creature slams him back into the bookcase, hard enough to make several volumes from the top shelf come crashing down. They narrowly miss Riku’s head, and Sora howls when one hits him. Even warped and wild, Riku recognizes that voice. He recognizes that face. He can’t make out any details on it—no nose, no mouth, just lantern-like bauble eyes, but he still _knows_. He can smell Sora, _feel_ Sora. He doesn’t understand.

The creature drags Riku down by claws in his shoulder, nails sharp but not pressing _quite_ enough to cut. For once, Riku doesn’t fight it. He’s done with fighting Sora. He lets himself be pushed to the floor, where Sora climbs into his lap, straddling it with knees bent and feet poised on the ground, both hands kneading into Riku’s biceps. Riku lifts his arms carefully, not wanting to startle it, and tries again, “Sora—”

Sora’s hands flash out, careening into his, ten thin digits threading through his own and slamming his knuckles back against the shelf. Sora’s black flesh is boiling hot but wickedly soft, and Riku can’t help thinking there’s something familiar about the feeling of those smaller palms against his own. 

Sora makes a strained noise like a howling, mewling wolf, and turns its face to press against Riku’s cheek. Riku hisses at the heat of it, but he doesn’t turn away. He tenses and waits as Sora nuzzles into him, at first just lightly brushing against him, then flattening so hard into him that Riku’s head is forced to the side. Riku gives Sora’s hands a little push, not so much trying to escape as just testing the boundaries, and he finds Sora hard as steel. 

Sora bucks forward suddenly, knocking the wind out of Riku’s chest, then thrusting against his lap and grinding down into it—Riku grits his teeth together and wonders what the hell’s gone wrong. 

Whatever’s happened to Sora, it isn’t _normal_ , even more so than the rest of their wild journey. Even though Riku knows that Sora’s been given gifts he’ll never even know about, he can’t imagine any of their allies gifting Sora _this_. There’s no rhyme, no reason, to the way Sora ruts against him, growling and almost snarling but snuggling his face. Riku bears it, even as the blood rises in his cheeks and his body starts to respond—of course it does, it couldn’t _not_ , not with the stimulation he’s getting, even if it’s from little more than some feral beast. He knows it’s Sora. He’s sure of it. It has Sora’s gorgeous body, even if he can’t see much more than the basic design. There’s no colour to contrast the lithe muscles Sora’s grown, the sensual curve of his back and the plush strength in his thighs. Sora makes a deep noise like a cat purring but far more _lewd_ , or maybe it’s just Riku’s imagination going straight to hell.

He tries again, when he can, now a tad breathless as Sora’s plump rear drags against his tenting pants—“Sora, what’re you—” he cuts off with a hitch of breath when something wet and spongy drags along his cheek—evidently, Sora does still have a mouth. Or at least, he has a tongue. 

He licks his way up to Riku’s ear as he grinds his own growing bulge against Riku’s, and then Riku feels the scrape of pointed teeth, and he cries out when they dig into his jaw. Sora tenses against him, not pressing hard enough to draw blood, just enough to _feel_ , and Riku knows he’s had enough—or at least, he can’t take anymore. He wrenches out of Sora’s vice-like grip, only for Sora’s claws to dart into his hair and fist hard in the silver locks—Riku’s head is jerked back, throat arched and exposed for Sora to drag hungry teeth along and lick and nip. Riku puts his hands against Sora’s chest, meaning to push Sora away. 

But Sora’s riding him with reckless abandon, and the next thing he knows, Sora’s growing in his ear and stiffening against him, and Riku comes with a horrid cry. 

That first moment of orgasm bears a sliver of regret, and the rest is sucked away in a heady sort of bliss. Sora rides him right through it to milk out every drop. Riku ruins his underwear. He can feel it wetting and sticking to him already. He has no one to blame but himself. Sora groans and tries to burrow into his neck, while Riku slumps, stunned, with an affectionate shadow in his lap.

For a few minutes, Riku just struggles to collect himself. He breathes and tries to think, feeling dizzy and crazed. This can’t really be _Sora_. But now their corner of the library reeks of sex, the feral behaviour seems to have slipped away, and Sora stills his hips and loosens his tight grin on Riku’s body. Instead, he only nuzzles into Riku’s face and makes a low purring noise, something like a satisfied cat.

Riku lifts a weak arm to gently ruffle Sora’s hair. When he pets Sora, Sora settles down, slumping contentedly against him. The smoky tendrils seem to have subsided, and eventually, Riku notices the yellow of Sora’s sneakers peeking out again.

The shadows slowly ebb away, dissipating in shallow patches that leave room for all the bright, vivid colours that make up the _real_ Sora, until it’s all receded, and Sora’s handsome face is just how Riku remembers it. 

Except it’s sleeping peacefully, resting on Riku’s shoulder. Riku continues to pet through Sora’s chestnut hair for a few extra minutes, then finally stills and leans against Sora in return. 

Riku’s dazed and more than a little confused, worried and curious, and, in a strange way, relieved—maybe even purely good people can have dark secrets after all.


End file.
